


Of Wolves & Doves

by DxrlingDoll



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breeding, Coming of Age, Consensual Underage Sex, F/F, F/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Pairings, Slow Burn, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DxrlingDoll/pseuds/DxrlingDoll
Summary: "I could take you with me, take you to Winterfell. I'll keep you safe. Do you want to go home?"AUin which the Hound, after realizing something supernatural is developing within the young Stark girl, takes it upon himself to get her out of King's Landing and escort her to safety. Figuring out where that is, however, becomes more complicated as tensions rise across the Realm and the truth of who and what she is exactly, becomes harder and harder to hide.





	1. Chapter 1

“I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t believe I asked you, little bird.”

When they leave that night, it isn’t her safety he has in mind. Or at least, not in the way one would imagine. It’s true, a castle under siege was no place for a girl like her and even less so considering how cruelly the King in question treated her, but this had nothing to do with her wellbeing. He might not have been the smartest or the most cultured man in all the Realm, but even he knew the signs when he was staring right at them. 

It happened rather subtly at first, a slight crimson hue in her normally azure gaze appearing and then disappearing whenever she was notably distressed. Then came the restlessness and the irritability; the latter symptom being the most elusive considering her usual repertoire of high-strung and erratic emotions. Not that he blamed her of course, she’d been through quite an ordeal since her lord father’s untimely death. He knew it couldn’t have been easy for her, being left all alone in the lion’s den when she knew nothing of men and even less of their wrath. She was a child and yet, he also knew she’d be so much more than that. In due time, he figured he’d tell her everything there was to know about what was happening to her. He’d explain why, despite her telling him repeatedly that she had no interest in leaving King’s Landing that night, he took her anyways. He’d give her all the answers she wanted but for now, all that mattered was getting out of there as soon as possible. 

After all, there isn't a moment to waste.

Mounting his midnight-black steed with her sitting in front of him, he says not a word as they ride away from the chaos and turmoil that is the Battle of Blackwater. She sits before him with her arms crossed, pale-pink lips pouted in protest, and her eyes narrowed with a hatred he’s seen her direct at others plenty of times before. Although he does what he can to respect the little space there is between them, the girl being of noble birth first and foremost, he can’t help but notice how still she’s being. He wonders if, despite insisting otherwise, a part of her is relieved to finally leave the cursed capital and all of its horrors. Granted, the road ahead wouldn’t be much easier for either of them, but it certainly beat captivity at the hands of a mad boy-King and his bitch of a Queen-mother. At any rate, he was doing both she and them a favor. 

If somehow, they learned what he already knew, it was only a matter of time before they had the young Stark girl restrained and quartered. They’d make all those afternoon floggings she endured at the hands of Ser Meryn and the beheading of her so-called traitorous father look like mere mercies. The High Septon would certainly have no tolerance for it, and although he knew the Lannister’s were the last people who had any right to a claim of higher-power, he could already see the kind of spectacle they’d make out of her. An example no doubt, something to remind everyone of what they had done to old Eddard Stark, and what they were still capable of doing to anyone they deemed out of line. Hells, knowing them, they’d probably use it to accuse the girl of some other horrible crime she had no real part in. They were quite good at that, fabricating their own version of the truth so well that one could hardly tell the difference between fact and fiction. _Some fucking Lions alright,_ he mused bitterly as they continued onward.

In the distance, she can still hear the battle raging on into the night. The sounds of carnage and combat were quite muffled from down below in the Holdfast, but things are quite different up above. Even now, though the noises were faint and the distance between them grew more and more with every lengthy gallop the horse made, Sansa could still vaguely make out the screaming and the explosions. She can only imagine what will become of the palace once Stannis and his men breach the Mud Gate and make their way into the inner city. A full fledge massacre no doubt, the kind she used to learn about alongside her Septa. Back when the horrors of the world were nothing more than history lessons. How awful life had become. 

For a moment, she thinks of her Lorathi handmaiden, and she wishes more than anything that they could’ve taken her with them. Shae didn’t deserve everything that was about to happen to her. Not that she had any intention of ending up like the rest of them. _No one is raping me,_ she remembers Shae telling her moments before sending her off. There was something about the dark-eyed brunette that the scarlet-haired girl admired a great deal, and it wasn't just because Shae carried a knife under her dress either. She spoke funny due to her accent, was terrible at playing games since she rarely saw the use in them and was a pretty awkward handmaid all things considered. Yet, even with that being the case, Sansa would be lying if she said she wasn’t going to miss her dearly. She had no friends in King's Landing, except one. 

However, she knew she’d have to put all of that aside if she was going to survive what was coming. As far as technicalities were concerned, the Hound had taken her against her will, and she was now his prisoner. It sounded believable enough to her but, in all truth, the frost-bitten cherub secretly hoped and prayed she’d never have to tell such tall tales. She wasn’t afraid of him, or at least not in the way she once had been. His face was still a bit difficult to look at directly, but at least she knew he would not hurt her. Besides, after everything Joffrey and his Kingsguard had done to her, what could she possibly be afraid of? As the Queen had told her, all the rapers were currently trying to make their way into King’s Landing right about now. And she, for better or worse, was not there.

 _Not anymore,_ she thought. 

_Never again,_ he knew.


	2. Chapter 2

“Open your eyes, girl!”

She wakes up crying the morning after their little escapade, chest heaving and ocean irises filled to the brim with saline sorrow as her body shoots forward and does not stop until she is sitting upright. It takes her a moment to catch her breath and take in her current surroundings. _Ground, trees, dirt, sky..._ and the Hound kneeling right beside her weirwood-patterned dress. “I’m-” She doesn’t know how to explain herself, isn’t sure she can put into words how her dreams have become the farthest thing from a safe-haven she can imagine. She doesn’t know how to talk about the things she can’t stop seeing, or the places she can’t stop returning to. Soft fingertips do what they can to clear her eyes as she finds it in herself to address him for the first time, “Forgive me Ser, I didn’t mean to startle you. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

He says nothing at first, his forest brown eyes far too fixated on her tear-stained features. In truth, startled isn’t quite the word he would’ve used, but he doesn’t see the point in telling her that. Partially because he still can’t believe he managed to make her sleep on the bare ground, no complains uttered as she clutched that odd-looking doll of hers and slept on the grass-covered terrain. Surely, some half-mumbled critique on the necessities of proper ladies requiring the sanctitude and privacy of four walls was well-deserved at this point, but he received not a single one. 

However, his primary reason for not clarifying her word choice lied mainly in the fact that he expected much worse from her than just night-terrors and kicked-puppy whimpering. He presumed her restlessness would only get worse under direct moonlight, crescent-shaped or otherwise but so far, she had yet to prove him right. Eventually, the moment ends, and he merely nods his head at her words, before lying back on the ground and muttering, “I’m no Ser.”

A quiet scoff manages to leave her chapped lips, and she isn’t sure if it’s because of how underwhelming his response is or if it’s because she finds the constant reminding of his lack of knighthood (from his own mouth at that) to be lightly amusing. Nodding her head, she makes a mental note to stop calling him Ser, and she swears this time it will stick. Laying back down, she turns on her side and gently wraps her arms around the crème-colored figurine she found moments before leaving her chamber the night before. It’s a strange looking thing, her opinion on that forefront has yet to waiver even a bit, but it’s also the last thing she has of **him.**

If she tries hard enough, she can still hear his voice in the back of her grief-stricken mind. _This is for you, love._ She hadn’t liked it then any more than she did now, but now there was no father to make any petulant remarks towards. No breaking of any familial fasts to excuse herself from, not a single strand of the child she once was in sight. Well, nothing except for the doll anyways. Back in King’s Landing, it was a well-kept secret for fear that Cersei would order one of her handmaiden’s to sneak into her room and steal it. Or worse, that Joffrey would somehow get his hands on it and do something awful to it just to torment her. Not even Shae, who seemed to know just about everything, knew about her lady’s most prized possession. 

Opening her eyes, she fights back the urge to huff or puff, in case the Hound is still awake and hears her. After all, proper ladies don’t groan first thing in the morning, but Sansa knew there was no use in pretending to be asleep any longer. Clearly, sleep would not be visiting her again and as she looks up at the early-morning sky, she figures she’d rather not be asleep right now anyways. A breathtaking array of violet and scarlet colored hues is what she finds herself admiring and for a moment, she even smiles because she notices the way it matches the vest and dress worn by her little doll. Sansa doesn’t remember the last time she was simply able to lie down and muse over such childish affairs. 

It wasn’t as though she had much time to think about the color of the sky or her doll back in King’s Landing. No, every morning usually started the same exact way and the events of the day were seldom ever different from the last. A rinse and repeat cycle of concealing her true emotions with a rehearsed sense of civility, while Joffrey or Cersei or some other horrible person did and said whatever they pleased to her. Perhaps, if the sky didn’t look as pretty as it did at that moment, she would’ve started crying. Weeping for all the time spent as the Lannister’s prisoner, forced to bend over backward as they humiliated her without even the slightest bit of mercy in their eyes. All the bruises she carried, all the tears she’d fought against, all the words she’d been forced to recite.  


_I hope Joffrey is dead._

****

**X**

It isn’t until the sun starts to rise that he arouses himself from his slumber, it’s almost instinctive at this point and doesn’t take him long considering he’s never been much of a heavy sleeper. Getting up from the ground, he’s a bit surprised to find her already wide-eyed and awake but doesn’t bother questioning her. After all, she isn’t his hostage, and he has no intention of telling her what she can and cannot do. That being said… 

“You should’ve gone back to sleep little bird, ” he grumbles, almost to no one at all considering the way his gaze averts her direction completely. Rising up to his feet, he cracks his knuckles and then makes his way on over to Stranger. Untying the raven-black stallion from the singular wooden post, he walks it over to a small pond that sits beside them and allows the horse to hydrate himself. “We have a long trip ahead of us, and I don’t plan on stopping again until dark. I also hope you don’t expect anything different from last night. It isn’t safe to stay anywhere they might recognize you, especially not if that little shit of a King is still breathing.”

“I don’t expect anything,” it’s a simple statement that sounds far too bleak coming from the likes of her, but it’s one she says with a great deal of honesty. If a morning spent staring at the sky with nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company had allowed her to do anything, it was come to terms with the reality of their situation. No, not the sympathy-earning trial confession she’d have to give in front of all the nobles in King’s Landing if they were somehow caught and everything went South ( _literally_ ), but the factual and authentic truth. 

The Hound had taken her far away from her tormentors and now, they were going to head North until they either reached Winterfell or came across Robb and his men. She didn’t enjoy sleeping on the ground any more than she did looking at the Hound’s face or listening to the gruffness in his voice, but Sansa knew this would only be for a short time. Soon enough, if her prayers to the Gods meant anything at all to them, she’d be in the company of her family once more, “I just want to be far away from here. Can you do that?”

It isn’t until she makes her way over to him that he observes the wound still healing over her right eye. It’s become more of a scab at this point, something which he convinces himself he only noticed for the sole purpose of strategic planning and not carnal curiosity. A noble girl on the run with a nasty little scar above her right eye will surely be easy enough to spot, or at the very least remember in case anyone comes asking for them. Of course, there is always the possibility that there’s no need to be so precautious. Perhaps all the Lannister’s were dead already, and King Stannis had other more pressing matters than a runaway child. Really, there was no way of knowing what exactly had happened last night, “Aye, I can.” 

Helping her on to the horse, he mounts the open space behind her before making the horse ride off in the direction they needed to go. Soon enough, silence is all that can be heard between them as the horse continues to gallop forwards. He thinks about her scar for a moment longer, remembers slicing open the men who had tried to have their way with her that day. The one who’d been on top of her, he cut right open, so she could watch as his insides slipped out from under him. The other, he drove his blade straight into, and the last one got sliced straight across his neck. It had been quite a violent scene, but he knew it was important for her to watch. What happened that day would stay with her forever, he knew it would. So, it was better that the men responsible for it were left living and breathing only in the darkest and cruelest parts of her mind. The same place, which he could only assume, where he found her earlier today. Whether she was dreaming of the rapers or her father, he couldn’t say for certain, but he knew it was his responsibility to keep her safe now. 

That’s what he had promised her and so, that’s what he would do.


End file.
